And She Brought a Gun to a Knife Fight
by Noisytoysforboys
Summary: I'm really tired of "And then XX saw Nny and they instantly fell in love and Nny went all OOC for her and they lived happily ever after the end." So I decided to see if I could restore the good JTHM name. OCxNny as story progresses. Flaming will be ignord
1. Good Morning, Sunshine

Morning presented itself with a flourish, fat bars of sunlight creeping through the gaps in the dingy, once-white blankets substituting as curtains for apartment number three thirty two. The figure sat in the middle of the bed, knees tucked under its chin, arms curled over its head, as if to protect it from an invisible downpour. Tendrils of thick, blonde hair snake over bare arms, ending in vibrant purple tails that clash violently with her cadaverous pale skin. Rocking softly back and forth, the figure lifts its head, its soft facial features and full, pouty lips revealing it to be female. She glowered darkly at the opposing wall, cerulean eyes radiating malice.

'_Good Morning, good morning, it's time to say good morning!'_

Without blinking, the young woman rasped, "Fuck mornings."

'_Awww, someone's in a mooood!'_

"I wasn't in a mood until you showed up. I'm waiting for my breakfast, be quiet."

'_Breakfast? Who delivers breakfast?'_

"Pizza."

'_Pizza for breakfast? Casey, you should know better. You're going to get fat.'_

"Well you know what, bitch? I'd rather be fat and full of pizza than healthy and hungry. They're late."

The shriek of a doorbell cut through the apartment like a serrated knife through butter, sending her catapulting off of the bed, onto the cold, hard floor with a thud. Scrambling toward the door, she tore aside the flimsy plank and found herself staring into the ashen face of a pizza delivery boy.

"WELL IT'S ABOUT HOLY FUCKING ZIPPITY DO IN A JIM JAM DOUCHE BAG TIME!" She bellowed, flashing pointed canines and burning eyes. The frightened mediator, a teenager with a bad case of acne and nasty black stubble running down his face and neck, stuttered clumsily, "O-one small cheese mushroom pizza for Casey-"

" WELL THAT'S JUST FANTASTIC! I'M CASEY, LOOK HOW WELL LIFE WORKS OUT! NOW GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY HOUSE." She whipped the box from his grasp, pulled a hunk of cash out of her pocket and hurled it at the mortified teenager. He stumbled back then turned, dashing toward his car with a jumbled slur of "Don'tworrykeepthemoneyI'llbegoingnowbye." Fear spurred him on until he was settled safely in his vehicle and speeding away down the street. Casey glared after him until he rounded the corner, then flipped open her pizza box and studied the contents.

"They forgot the fucking mushrooms."


	2. Pretty Girls Don't Play With Guns

**AN: Special thanks to SomebodyStandingThere (.net/u/1851349/) for being the first to R&R on this fanfic! I kept your comment in mind, and I hope that this is more detailed!**

Instances like this were not unusual. In fact, within a twelve hour period, Casey usually managed to add a healthy dose of the fear of God into at least three people, including but not limited to: door-to-door salesmen, her landlord and various local Girl Scout troops. To Casey, people were a nuisance; bothersome like puppies, constantly getting tangled around your legs until one day you just have to punt them across the room and teach them a lesson. Most of the time, the sporadic episodes were harmless. A little bit of screaming, some teeth gnashing and the morons would leave her be. But sometimes, the idiots needed a little extra push. She had returned to her bed, pizza box cradled in her lap, fingers spread comically as she attempted to tame the wild globs of cheese falling every which direction from her slice of pizza. She was about to sink her teeth into the first bite of the steaming triangle. Her mouth was watering, eyes searing hungriliy, she was almost there-

The girl was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Grumbling to herself about the insolence of people and the importance of breakfast, she slipped off the sheets, pulled the wedgie out of her butt (courtesy of her skimpy black panties) and made her way to the door. She pulled herself up onto her tiptoes so that she could peer out the peep hole. Frowning at the unfamiliar face, the blonde cracked the door and called suspiciously, "Hello? What do you want?"

Two men in crisp, clean button-downs and black suite pants forced the door open, much to her obvious dismay. One of the men, his name tag introducing him as "George," began,

"Hello there ma'am! We've come to spread to you the message of the gospel the Lo-"

She cut them off, pushing the door as she spoke, "I'm not interested. Go away."

The second man, a tall, balding, fat fellow with an obnoxious, phony smile and a nametag reading "Frank", shoved his foot between the door and the doorframe, successfully stopping the girl from shutting it all the way, "We'd just like a moment of your time, ma'am. Won't you spare a moment for sanctity?"

Casey forced her body up against the wood, pushing harder, "I said go away! Your sanctity is my perversion, I want nothing to do with your load of brainwashing bullshit."

"But ma'am, please! God said-"

"Go away, or I'll report you for harassment." She gave the door a final shove. The men decided they'd have to take more desperate action to get into this house. With a howl, Frank began to bounce around on one foot, "OH GOOD HEAVENS! OH MY FOOT! OH! OH!" To Casey, he sounded more like an orgasming pig then a man in pain. None the less, she knew that turning them away now would lead to a load of new minor charges to add to her police file. That was another headache she didn't need.

With an angry cry, Casey wrenched the door aside, "FINE. COME IN AND HAVE A SEAT." She threw her arms out in an angry gesture toward her shabby excuse for a living room; a small loveseat and an openly abused recliner sat stationary, a thin layer of dust settled over the fabric as if they hadn't been used for a long time.

The two missionaries barged right in, relieved that finally, after a long, hot day of aggravating people, they'd come across some kind soul who'd spare a moment of consideration. Frank sat down first, settling into the creaky loveseat with caution, his injured foot miraculously healed. George joined him, and together they waited for the girl to sit and open her ears.

She'd disappeared into the kitchen, to fetch bandages and ice they supposed. Imagine their surprise when the apartment was consumed the sound of gunfire. Or, rather, imagine the surprise of Frank. Because George was quite busy being dead. It was instantaneous, totally unexpected. One moment, the two were twiddling their thumbs and thinking over their scripted gospel message. The next, George was slumped, eyes popping, blood spurting from a wound smack in the center of his forehead. Terrified, Frank leapt off of the couch, back peddaling away from the couch as fast as his legs would go. A bit too fast for the rest of his body unfortunately; he felt himself toppling but had no intention of stopping. With a crash, the fat man rolled heels over head across the surface of a coffee table. George sat stone still, head between his knees, shoes soaked to saturation in a pool of his own blood. Rising groggily, Frank stumbled first left, then right as he searched frantically for the exit. He caught sight of a small square of white, and before his brain was even finished registering that it was, indeed, the front door, he was sprinting all out. Frank tried to stop himself as he approached the exit, but his momentum was far too great. He collided with the board, sweaty fingers fumbling hurriedly as he struggled to escape.

"C'MOOOON. OPEEEN!" He shrieked, clawing at the wood with nubby finger nails, jamming splinters under his finger nails, heart pounding a mile a minute. He opened his mouth to scream, found his voice locked. Frank pivoted, pressed his back against the door, chest heaving, eyes flying from left to right. Nothing. The killer was nowhere to be found.

_"I need to get out-" _That was Frank's final thought before he crumpled, the space between his eyes transformed into an oozing mass of blood, flesh and brain matter.

"Soliciting religion is a sin, dear sir. Your intentions are unclean. I wish you the best of luck when reckoning with the oh-so-higher powers above."

With this, the girl rounded the corner, a malicious grin plastered across her pretty face, a P229 Sig Saur Equinox clutched tightly in one hand. Steady, cerulean eyes studied the body of the sales agent; she nudged him with her boot. After determining he was satisfactorily dead, she gripped his wrist and began to drag him away from the door. She lugged the body past its dead partner, down her bedroom hallway and halted in front of a dark door, almost indistinguishable from the wall around it. It was shut tight, secured with three heavy, iron locks. Casey released the corpse with a resounding thud, then she began to search her pocket for the keys. It took her a few minutes, but eventually she managed to open all three locks. Dropping to her knees, Casey pulled the corpse toward her, hauled its arm over her shoulder. Then she stood, supporting the deadweight as she shuffled forward into the dark.  
>It got colder as she went farther in. The dark was impenetrable; she was going off every sense except sight. Stretching out one hand, Casey began to grope out in front of her. She paused when her fingertips brushed a wall. The body slid from her shoulders, landing loudly. Turning on her heels, Casey stalked back out into the light, through the hallway and into the living room to retrieve the second cadaver. When they were both stored away neatly, she locked the door and sprinted to her bathroom. The girl stripped down, discarding her smelly, blood flecked clothes. She submerged her body in a boiling shower and scrubbed her skin red and sore with a clean, lightly scented soap; sharp and fresh, closest in similarity to the fragrance of pine trees. All the while she sang,<p>

_"Seems a downright shame...__  
>Shame?<br>Seems an awful waste...  
>Such a nice, plump frame<br>Wot's 'is name has...  
>Had...<br>Has!  
>Nor it can't be traced...<br>Bus'ness needs a lift,  
>Debts to be erased...<br>Think of it as thrift,  
>As a gift,<br>If you get my drift!  
>Seems an awful waste...<br>I mean, with the price of meat  
>What it is,<br>When you get it,  
>If you get it..."<em>

When she was content with her body's cleanliness, she turned her attention to her hair, dousing her electric blonde locks in deep cleansing shampoo.

_"The history of the world, my love -__  
>Save a lot of graves,<br>Do a lot of relatives favors!  
>Is those below serving those up above!<br>Ev'rybody shaves,  
>So there should be plenty of flavors!<br>How gratifying for once to know  
>That those above will serve those down below!"<em>

She finished with a freezing rinse, then clambered out of the shower, not bothering to retrieve a towel. Air drying was better for her skin, she reasoned. Intending to walk out of the bathroom, she approached the door, reached for the knob…paused at the mirror. Wiping away the steam with one hand, she stared intently at the reflection in the glass.

A pair of large, curious eyes peered back. They were bright, full of life; vivid shades of cerulean, slate and navy spiraling from her iris and bleeding into thin, obsidian edges. Her face was flushed from the heat, but her complexion was clear save a few adolescent acne scars dotting her forehead. Full, pink lips puckered as she bent forward closer, examining her delicate facial profile and small, round (though puckish) nose. Long, thick layers of white blonde hair fell, dripping, to her waist at the longest point, the tips ending in vibrant purple. Her body build was similar to her face, she noted. She had good muscle definition in her arms; her collarbone jutted noticeably. Small but perky breasts sat close together on her chest, the sort of perfect boobs women paid millions in surgical procedures to get. Her waist was small, but her hips were smooth and round, almost unproportional to the rest of her body. These lead to large, solid thighs, elegant legs and finally small feet. Overall, she decided she was a beautiful girl.

_'Pretty girls like you shouldn't play with guns, Casey.'_

Inside her head, the shrill, bitter voice that she'd been bothered by that morning taunted, _'After all, aren't we trying to be more lady-like?'_

"Shut up, Echo." Casey retorted, her voice gritty as she pushed a lock of wet hair behind her ear, "Go away, I don't want to talk to you." She stood there, glaring at the mirror, for all the world appearing to talk to herself.

_'Humph.'_ Echo pouted, _'I don't want to talk to you either. But there's not much we can do about that, is there?'_

"Shut up!"

_'You shut up! Whore.'_

Frustrated, Casey strode out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing behind her as she rushed out the door. She reached her room, stormed to her bed. The heavy afternoon sun made her room feel dank and hazy; she crawled into the sheets, buried her face in her pillows. She was asleep after ten minutes.


	3. A Chance Encounter

**AN: Sorry this took so long guys, I've been busy with boot camps and fitness camps and volleyball camps and whipping my ass into shape. Casey would be proud. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I thought it was alright. Nothing spectacular, but alright. Also, I'd really appreciate if you guys would please review? I don't care if it's something like, "Hey, like the story, keep it up!" but please give me something. I'd really appreciate it! Thanks, enjoy ^^**

As nightfall began to curl its claws around the apartment complex, Casey awoke and pulled herself from the soft, warm bed. She stretched, smacked her lips together, pawed the sleep from her eyes. Night time was her time. No, night time did not belong to the stupid party go-ers. To the delusional pricks that called themselves "Vampires", not to the teenagers who flew around the highways at dangerous speeds and used the adrenaline rush of drugs and alcohol for cheap arousals. The fall of the sun, the thick sheet of pitch velvet that cast its clammy fingers across the terrain of the countryside, she felt that only she could fully appreciate this. Sliding off of the mattress, she crossed the small room and approached her tiny bureau. She yanked open the cracking wooden doors, revealing a wardrobe consisting of little more than black, black and the occasional black blend. Smirking, the little blonde dove into the bottom drawer of the dresser, emerged with simple black panties and sports bra to match. Rifling through her hanging clothes now, she tugged from its hanger a pair of heavy, baggy cargo pants, which she donned and secured around her waist with a fabric belt. Last but not least, the girl pulled over her head a worn, violet sweatshirt, thumb holes rubbed into the wrists after years and years of use. She started toward the front door, fully intent on leaving, when the familiar glimmer of well polished metal caught her eye. Chiding herself for her forgetfulness, the girl shuffled toward the pile of laundry the sparkle had shone from, shoved aside various articles of clothing and retrieved her precious Sig Saur. She tucked the gun into the band of her pants, made sure the safety was locked. Finally able to leave, Casey bound down the hall, snatched up the pair of violent purple sneakers resting at the front door and trotted out the door toward the sidewalk.

The Twenty-Four-Seven was almost completely empty, as per usual this time of night. Casey chose this hour to visit the shop especially for that reason; the less people around to bother her, the better her night would be. Fiddling absentmindedly with the excess of her dark canvas belt, the girl let her eyes roam across the various lighted number displays pegged atop the aisle ends. She grinned devilishly as she identified the number she'd been searching for, and she started eagerly toward the shelves. Vibrant blue eyes scoured the products on the sill, passing over colorful wrapper after colorful wrapper. And then… they there were, the classic blue plastic box shining under the lights, the dark navy bubble lettering imprinted on the top, proclaiming the "Crypts Ahoy!" oh so proudly. Greedily, she snatched up one canister, turned to leave, paused, kidnapped two more, then made her way to the check out. She hummed as she walked, full lips stretched into a grin that could be described as nothing less than creepy.

At the sight of the ungainly, emaciated blonde skipping toward him with a vicious looking smile and an armful of chocolate chip cookies, the cashier couldn't help but stare. At first, Casey didn't seem to notice, she was still too preoccupied with her beloved junk food. But as the clerk continued to gawk, she stopped molesting the package and turned her gaze on him, her smile vaished. Calm, cold, steady eyes caused him to fidget as mumble the scripted welcome, "Welcome to Twenty-Four-Seven ma'am, will this be all for you tonight?" With a nod, she pulled out a small wad of ones and presented them to the nervous cashier. As he fumbled through the bills, she took the opportunity to study her surroundings. The shop was fairly quiet; an old man in the corner flipped through the magazine rack, an obviously drugged up teenager danced from foot to foot as he wrung his hands and searched the place for a cure to the late night munchies. Only one patron registered as "interesting" on Casey's scale of characterization. From what she could tell, he was fairly jaunty, with slender limbs and a very sallow, yellow-y complexion. His face was well chiseled and his nose crooked just so, as if broken once and never quite healed all the way. Casey cocked her head slightly to the left, rattling her tongue stud across the inside of her teeth as she watched him pad along the outside wall toward the Brain Freezy stand. His steps faltered for a moment, and she suddenly found her large, cerulean eyes locked in the hollow stare of the young man. His own eyes were dark and wild, carcinogenic orbs fixated securely on her. She grimaced, uncomfortable with the attention, so she turned back toward the cashier, who was printing out a receipt.

"Have a nice night." He muttered, expecting her to take her things and leave. Instead, she handed him another single, "I want a drink. It won't be over a dollar, keep the change. Wait a second." She turned on her heel and trotted toward the large refrigerated displays that held beverages. Here she grabbed herself a bottle of milk, wheeled around to return to the register, but found her way barred. The skinny fellow who'd peaked her curiosity before stood blocking her path, one foot still in the air as he stood paused, trying to avoid a collision with her. She pursed her lips and growled, " 'Scuse me."

At first, she didn't think he was going to move. He frowned, gnawing hard on the plastic straw stuck in his cup, eyes flying over her. But after a moment he stepped aside and let her pass. She flashed her bottle toward the clerk who nodded in recognition, then she shouldered her bag and headed out the door.


	4. AUTHORS NOTE PLEASE READ

DEAR READERS:

I am so, so sorry to have kept you pining after the continuation of this story for so long. Life has been so, so hectic for me, and only now am I able to say that I have begun to secure my handle on it. I will have a new chapter (maybe even two) posted by the end of the day. Thank you all so much for waiting, y'all are saints.

~Noisy


	5. Even Steven

**_AN: It's kinda short, but it's all I got for now guys. More to come later._**

Outside the convenience mart, the air was cool and frosty, the wind laced with that "just-before-fall" feel. Casey danced her way down the street, the bag of cookies and milk swinging merrily off her wrist. She never saw the man coming.

From behind her, fleeting footsteps. Then she was seeing stars, the back of her head torn by the pain of blunt force trauma. She never felt herself hit the ground, but by the time she back to her senses, her pockets were empty, her cookies were gone and the one who'd taken them was halfway down the road. Livid, the blonde hefted herself up, taking a few wobbly steps after the thief before falling to her knees and wretching up the remainder of that mornings pizza. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she stared ahead solemnly, her bottom lip trembling she she fought back disgusted tears.

_What kind of a person does that?_

_You're not going to let him get away with that, are you, Casey?_

That was Echo, her voice strange and ring-y in Casey's pounding head. The girl stood once again, this time a bit more slowly. Then she began to walk, eyes fixed in the direction the robber had gone.

The little blonde was unaware of the pair of eyes that followed her as she limped away.

She searched for what felt like hours; it was dead silent and the town was empty now. She had no trouble following the mans trail. A dirty scent hung off him, a mixture of age-old whiskey and stale cigarette smoke, tainted with unwashed laundry. He was messy too, knocking over trashcans, startling dogs and making just a lot of overall noise. By the time she got close enough to see him, he seemed to feel comfortable. She knew he'd doubted her ability to follow him, and that was to be his downfall. From within her pants, she withdrew her Saur, and just as she was about to fire…

_WHACK!_

The thwack of sharp metal embedding itself securely in flesh held her shot. With a howl, the man dropped to the ground, sputtering as blood began to pool all around him. Casey wheeled around, and found herself almost nose to nose with the skinny boy from the 7/11.

She hissed, "What the fuck? Who the fuck are you? And why'd you go and butt in like that, I was about to take care of it!"

The boy grimaced, looked down at her from over his nose as if she were no more than an ignorant child, "With your shiny toy gun? You don't even have the guts to put him out of his misery by yourself, you just pull a trigger and all the dirty work is done for you, huh? That worthless shit had the nerve to try and mug me. I didn't get the chance to give him what he deserved when he deserved it. Now move, girl. I'm going to finish him."

Casey growled, "I was here first, you free loader! The only reason your knife even touched him was because I had him cornered! You couldn't hit a moving target if your life depended on it, not with those heavy hunks of rust! You move!"

He narrowed his eyes, she set her lips. Neither of them was about to move. Casey huffed, "You know what, I have an idea. How about we split him in half, even Steven? That way we both get what we want."

She watch as the young man contemplated her proposition, then….

"Fine. Even Steven."


End file.
